


Tonight

by Vixx2pointOh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Asgard, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Happy birthday month to me, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixx2pointOh/pseuds/Vixx2pointOh
Summary: It’s late.You know it’s late not by the pendulum clock making a distant and foggy tick-tock and not because barely a thread of light pierces the hazy curtains that hang over your open window that cloudy night. No, you knew it was late because you can smell him.And he only comes when it’s late.





	Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sorry...

 

It’s late.  
You know it’s late not by the pendulum clock making a distant and foggy _tick-tock_ and not because barely a thread of light pierces the hazy curtains that hang over your open window that cloudy night. _No_ , you knew it was late because you can smell him.

And he only comes when it’s late.

His aroma is like fire to your veins and, as you will yourself to keep up the pretence of sleep a little longer, it burns beneath your skin. Each breath you take is scented with his musk. It’s heady and dirty, a mix of forest dander, sandalwood and sweat; a strange sort of scent to be utterly enraptured with, but you are, more than you might be willing to confess.

Your lips part and a sigh escapes as you think of what his skin must _look_ like this night, ruddy with sweat and brushed in dirt. His hair is likely in thin tendrils down either side of his chiselled jaw and imagining it has you already wet between your legs, eager and willing.

But you fight the urge, you’ll let him stay there a little longer; watching you from his spot on the balcony, the same one he has stood on many times since that first time when you were young and reckless, and probably drunk on mead and revelry from the banquet. The memories are fond, but you’ve kept them secret so long that you hide them behind the smallest of smiles.

Because he shouldn’t be here.  
But it’s late, and he is.

“Are you awake?” he whispers into the dark room, despite him probably already knowing you are.  
You stir, just a fraction, beneath the silk sheets. They glide against your naked legs, soft and subtle after your long and languid bath, but the notes of lavender on your skin is not the smell you care to notice, it’s him, and he’s drawing closer to you.

He says your name like a prayer of anguish dripping from his lips. Your eyes tug open when you realise he’s come not with wanton glee, but with another reason. He must have heard. He is after all, Prince of Asgard.

You sit up, banding the sheets across your chest, which covers over the flimsy film of fabric you wear as a night shirt. You know that you chose something so thin in the hopes he would come to you that very night, and yet seeing him there makes you shudder all the same.

He’s standing a few feet from your bed. Your eyes ravish his silhouette, tall, brawny, statuesque even, as you imagine the times he’s been above you and below you, using that body to bring you pleasure you’ve never encountered with anyone. Just him. _Only him._

“I’m awake my Prince,” you answer, keeping your voice as low as you can, careful that it not reach beyond the four walls surrounding you to ignite whispers.  
He steps closer but his normally straight shoulders are slumped forward.  
“We’ve known each other since we were children, I am your friend, not your Prince,” he sighs, as though heavy weights on his chest push the air from his lungs.  
“Can you not be both?” you answer with a little joviality colouring your tone.  
But his weary soul is in no mood for candour it would seem and because of the dark that disguise his face you’re not even sure if he offers you a smile in return. “Is it true?” he asks, his voice raspy and stretched as though in burns his throat to ask it.

You pull your knees up towards your chest and suck your lower lip into you mouth to still it from shaking.  
“Yes,” you reply softly, “It's true.”  
“You are set to marry him tomorrow then?” he asks, and you want to reprimand him for his tone, worried its depth might carry.  
“It was a fine offer given some months ago,” you answer softly.

You watch him pace, his cloak follows him around like reminder of who he is and what he will one day be. A King. Your King.  
“You could refuse him if you are not sure,” he mutters as he draws closer, now almost within reach if you stretched out your fingertips.  
“Yes, I could.” You watch him drag a hand through his hair, it is the most agitated that you have ever seen him on these late night visits.  
He has come drunk, merry, horny, and battle-weary, and you have revelled in the pleasure each gives, but tonight maybe it’s different.  
“What if you did?” He nods as he speaks, his hand twisting at his side as he’s come without a weapon as his hand seems lost without it.  
“They will want to know why,” your feet slip from the sheets and land on the floor, it’s cold and your spine shivers as you stand up onto the balls of your feet. He’s standing just ahead of you but his height overshadows yours significantly. You’re not frightened or troubled by it and in fact it is something you have always found quite appealing. “What shall I tell them?” you continue with your head tipped towards one shoulder, “Thor, Son of Odin, visits my chamber at nights when his body is in need and I should like to continue to allow him to find solace and pleasure with me?”  
It all comes out like a tumble of words that you can’t stop even if you wanted to.

Your legs grow restless and you move away from him and toward the window he had come in from as you recount the memories of your childhood within the palace halls, watching as the Princes grew alongside you.  
“I am told by many that he's a good man of noble standing and birth, a good match for me,” you counter, your voice matching his in a rasped whisper. “I consider him the same, always respectful during our courtship.”  
“But will he make you happy?” he asks, concern not anger colouring his expression as he steps closer until your bodies are only held apart by the breadth of a single sheet of paper.  
Your answer is barely heard over the sound of your heart beating but it's enough for him, a soft "Yes."

“I want to believe he will,” you add, absently folding your plump nude lip into your mouth.  
“Will he touch you with gentle hands when your soul is weary?” he questions while his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. For a moment you wonder if he can feel your temperature sore as he pins back your hair and feathers one delicate kiss at your temple. “Will he chase the moon and demand it shine for you when you tire of the dark?” His questions fall from his lips like poetry and your eyes water at the corners as he whispers them.

“Will he let you win when your spirit picks a fight?” A smile brightens his face and you slap his arm playfully, only to gulp down a breath when you realise how utterly solid that arm is and how easily he could use it to exert his control, but you smile, safe in the knowledge that he never would.  
“I'm sure he will be a fine match for all my temperaments my Prince,” you answer as your fingers tease the ends of his long hair, twisting it around your little finger. “And what of you?” you ask as you raise a single brow, “does the one you will marry know how to touch you?”  
Your fingers move to his ear and gently stroke the lobe, pinching away at the end until his eyes lapse closed and his breath softens contently.

“I should hope she has fingers like yours,” he moans, leaving his lips parted to breathe shallow through his mouth.  
Your fingers deftly unravel the laces of his shirt and it falls open over his chest, exposing the broad and hard slopes of his pecks and the mountainous ranges of his shoulders. You have loved those arms before. Straddled them between your legs, feeling each flex and tightening he makes against your sex, finding undulating pleasure from the friction until you come undone and coat his skin with your spend. Your fingers trace those familiar lines of his arms and by the smile on his face, he knows what you are thinking.

“Will he pleasure you with _every_ part of his body?” he asks as he flexes the arm beneath your fingers and your lips give way to a salacious sigh.  
You catch your breath, but leave your fingers to map out the sinewy lines of his forearm. “I’m told he’s quite handsome,” you blink up and catch him staring at you with those vividly blue eyes, “very worldly,” you purr before your fingers slip off his wrist and you walk backwards to the bed, ‘come hither if you dare’ written in your eyes.

He shadows you back towards the bed and you fall onto it with a bubbled laugh that only half escapes before his mouth is on yours kissing you feverishly. You can feel his hands touching the gauzy fabric of your nightgown. His touch feels like fire warming you from the inside and your whole body shivers as a lucid sigh drips from your lips onto his. But he’s hesitating, you know he could tear the flimsy fabric from your body with ease and in fact you’ve seen him do it before, but tonight he’s drawing faint circles around your budded nipples and lightly fingering where your gown laces at the front, _waiting_.

You put your hand against his and anchor his palm into the crescent of your breast. Tonight you don’t want gentle fingers because tonight will be the last night your lover will make a secret trip into your chambers, because tomorrow night you will have a husband beside you.

You nip the edge of his lip and his mouth twists into a smile as a breathy laugh warms your chin.  
“You are eager my flower,” he whispers as his lips travel up towards your ear. His fingers pinch your nipple and you moan keenly before he hushes you with a gravelled “ssshhh”.

You’re about done playing this game and, desperate for some contact you reach down the slim gap between your body and his and gently touch yourself, feeling your wet sex through the thin fabric.

He lifts a little off you and falls to your side. With just your feet dangled off the bed your eyes cloud over and you brush a finger into your folds. It’s not nearly as thick and long as his, but the friction of the fabric brushing back and forth over your clit is enough, for now, to have your back arching off the bed and your tongue feverishly swiping over your lower lip.

“Soon you won’t need me,” he whispers in your ear and your head turns towards him.  
You raise an eyebrow suggestively, “why don’t you show me what you can do then?” you tease.  
The challenge spurs him on with a gleeful smile and before you can blink he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you and you're now perched on the very edge on your bed.

Balanced on your elbows you look down your concave body at him as he lifts one of your legs and tucks it over his shoulder and down his back. Your heel maps out the sinewy slopes of his back as he pushes your other leg open. You find yourself resting the heel of that one of the base of the bed, tenting at your knee. With his eyes locked to yours, he lifts your gown and folds it up to your waist.

Your body is open to him and he licks his lips as he studies the slick wetness that glistens the tops of your thighs.

“I hope he has an appetite,” he says to your legs as he kisses from your knee up to your apex.  
You let out a breathy laugh as he blows gently against your folds before he heads across to the other thigh, drawing his lips down to your knee. “Because you should be devoured every night.”  
“Is that what you plan to do, devour me?” you ask as his bristled jaw grazes your knee.

He doesn't answer you but the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you the answer and a familiar longing washes over your body because you _know_ what's going to happen and you can’t wait.

He starts with a few soft kisses low across your belly and you stifle a giggle at the tickling sensation that sets a flurry of goosebumps down your spine while your fists knot, one in the bed sheets, the other in his hair. They are delicate kisses, no heavier than a feather stroke, and soon you find yourself panting out soft, melodic whimpers.

He takes your noises as a sign and moves a little further south where you hear him inhale you with a impish hum as though your cunt is a delectable meal spread out before him. Two kisses warm your sex and have his name dripping from your lips with wanton abandonment. And then, like a lit match to the puddle of gasoline in your core, his tongue peaks between your drenched folds and strokes in one, fluid motion from your perineum to your clit.

Your body shudders with the stroke and for a moment your hand becomes an extension of you that you no longer control as your nails embed into his scalp. The hiss he lets go reverberates between your folds before you regain control and retract your claws.  
“Sorry,” you shudder out.  
“You know never to apologise to me for that,” he answers, his head still between your legs and before you can say anything in response he licks you a second time the same way and then a third, a fourth, a _fifth_? You’re loosing count as each stroke brings you closer to a hazy delirium you know so well.

Some nights you would beg him to slow down or bite the inside of your lip just to stretch out the moments but tonight, _tonight_ is the last you have like this, so tonight you do neither.

His lips coil around your nub and you feel the slight pull of him sucking you into his mouth. It's erotic and sensual and as his tongue bats your sensitive clit gently you relinquish all control of your body, because you know that when you come, it's no where near the end of the night. The climax makes your chest heave and your stomach convulse. With the last semblance of lucidity you clamp your arm across your mouth and scream his name into your forearm, almost biting your own flesh as you come in a gush that has you seeing stars.

The sounds he's making should be illegal and you can't help the embarrassed stroke of red that colours the apples of your cheeks as he drinks in your spend like a starved animal. When he appears from between your legs he is smiling and cleaning his lips with slow swipes of his tongue.

You know what he'll say next and for a moment you consider answering him before he has a chance to ask, but you want to hear him speak just as much as you know he enjoys to ask.  
“How would you like me tonight princess?” He asks with a whispered and raspy voice.  
You cradle his head between the palms of your hands, bring him to your lips and kiss him softly, tasting just a hint of yourself on his lips. “Love me like tonight is all we have,” you whisper in response as you gaze at him affectionately.

He doesn't need any more from you as he guides your nightgown from your body. The gauzy fabric feels like fire as it grazes over your hard nipples. Your eyes lids feel heavy and fall closed as he discards your gown to the floor behind him.

His mouth is on your breast with slow, almost rhythmic strokes of his tongue around your nipple as his lips massage and suck you deeper. The tight pull has your nerves firing and pleasured moans seep from your wet breaths. Your eyes struggle to focus and each second breath you take catches in your throat as you rasp out his name.

Please, Please, please... you need to feel him inside you. You're desperate for the stretch you know your body makes around his. You need him. _Tonight you need him._

With his hands on your hips he turns you. You move almost limply, happy to let him position you where he wishes, safe knowing that it will result in your inevitable pleasure. Your hot cheek brushes the cool bed sheet as you recognise this position, he's had you this way before and your clit aches at the memory of it. You move lithely until your knees are tucked together under your body and your forearms are pressed into the mattress. Your spine curves down and your head is now stooped down, chin to chest.

Your hips sway as a breeze trickles down your back. It's his breath, warm and misty. You begin to get a little impatient as you rock, knowing your ass swaying in the dim lights is bound to be enough to entice him to hurry up. But when the mattress buckles behind you under his weight, you feel his hand opening up your legs as his other arm snakes around your stomach and he lifts you onto your knees, your back is now against his hard, chiselled wall of chest.

It's then you notice the reflections of light dancing on the brass headboard and in the sphered centre of it, in a shield like structure, you see the blurry reflections of you, naked, exposed, breathing raggedly with him right behind you, gently tucking your hair to one side.

“Tonight,” he whispers, “and every night you look into that.”  
You nod. A memory.

He enters you slowly and you gasp at the fullness of his cock. It slides against your walls as his hands brace your hips. A tear sneaks out from the corner of your eye, it's not sadness though, it's happiness, maybe even a little relief. You're not sure if he notices it before it falls away at your jaw but the tender kisses he trails over your shoulder is enough comfort for you and a smile graces your lips.

He settles himself deep inside you, and your curious hands sneak around your two, joined bodies and feather across his ass.

He chuckles and it warms your neck. “Holding on?” he asks as he slowly pulls himself a little back, releasing some of your fullness.  
Your nails take a handful of lush ass cheek before you nod and you want to scream ‘finally’ when he thrusts back inside you.

Even in the hazy reflection of the brass you can see you breasts flouncing as he pounds into you. Your breath burns in your throat and the crown of your head digs into the front of his shoulder as your sex clenches around him. His groans ignite your body and soon you are drenched in perspiration.

“Tell me,” you say, breathless and desperate to hear the words.  
He thrusts into you once, twice, a dozen more times, making your legs ache and your sex pulse with wetness while your neck is crimson with his desperate kisses.  
“I love you,” he says the words as your ass bounces against his chest.  
And you realise you love him too. Absolutely. Completely.

You coat his cock in your release and as you shudder forward seconds later you feel the warm ribbons of his firing deep inside your body.  
“I love you,” he repeats and the tears begin to stream from your eyes. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

**+Next Morning+**

You look at your wedding dress, or rather you wearing it, in a full length mirror. It feels surreal, like the image of ivory and gold is not you, but someone else destined to marry their Prince. But as your hands clasp over your stomach, a futile effort to calm the kamikaze butterflies in there, and the woman reflected in the mirror does the same, the reality that it is you; albeit a primped and preened version, casting the reflection, on your wedding day, to the man people expect you to love.

You recount what those who know you have told you.  
_He's a good choice._  
_Rich._  
_Strong._  
_Powerful._

None of those things matter to you. Only one does... _I hope he know how lucky he is._  
Someone fixes the ornate rose gold tiara of flowers and vines in your hair and you hear an "it's time" from the door way.

One last look in the mirror.  
_I hope he knows..._

There are faces, a sea of them you're sure, many you know, many you don't. But you're trembling too much to notice them. You watch your feet as they take one step at a time. Gold and ivory brocade shoes sliding out from under your dress.

You hear whispers of adoration for your dress, maybe even you, and you wonder if you should stop the eruption of thoughts in your head and just enjoy it, but you can’t, all you can think about is the man that waits at the end for you. He’s adorned in colours that match yours and as you draw closer the fine embroidery on the fabric calms your eyes with its sweeps and curls. He’s large, tall and he cuts into the scene in front of you, unmissable.

The hall is laden with white lilies and the air is rich with their soft, flowery scent, but your nose is searching for another aroma, a familiar one... you smile as it touches your nostrils, sandalwood and a slight hint of dirt.

Before you have much time to enjoy it, you’re at the end of the aisle. You take a breath. It’s shaky, as are you. Your nerves are itching beneath your skin, which feels like fire. Your stomach is wrestling with itself. Nervous panic, just when you think it might overcome you completely and you might make a fool of yourself in front of this gathered crowd, a large palm comes into view with long, thick digits, clean and smooth but with healed calluses at the pads which you know might be a little rough.  He's holding it out for you to see and take.

Then you notice something written in black ink in the centre of his palm. It’s so small you almost have to squint to see it, but when you finally do, every nervous bubble of energy floats into a serene puddle.

 _He knows_ it says.

He turns as you look up, and you see the familiar face of your soon to be husband, your lover. The blissful knowledge that he would never again sneak into your chambers, but rather share his with you, illuminates your face as you take his hand into yours.

He knows.

 

_**+The End+** _

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think ;)
> 
> Tumblr/Twitter @Someonesaidcake


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